Peace
by amber belle
Summary: All Harry wants is a little peace...HP/DM Oneshot


**A/N: **This was written for a fanfic contest. It's my first venture into slash. Enjoy!

* * *

**Peace**

* * *

Sometimes, Harry thought that the whole world was against him.

It was a perfectly natural feeling for someone who had been the personal enemy of the most evil man (technically speaking) in the Wizarding World. But said evil git had been dealt with effectively, and all Harry was asking for was a little peace.

Fat chance.

He had known everyone would hail him as a hero after the fall of Voldemort, but he'd hoped that they'd get over it soon enough. As Hermione liked to tell him, he was a very naïve young man. The Wizarding community of Britain had not got over it. They had, in fact, decided that he was their saviour, and saw him as some kind of magical Messiah – which, as Hermione pointed out, was quite a stupid concept considering that the Messiah was meant to appear at the end of the world, and this was most certainly not it. Harry supposed that he had performed a rather heroic feat (after all, how many seventeen-year-olds could claim to have defeated a Dark Lord? Even Dumbledore had been older than that), but he really didn't deserve the titles they were giving him.

It wasn't as if he'd done it _for_ them.

No, Harry Potter, eternal Gryffindor, hero, utter do-gooder, had done in Voldemort for purely selfish reasons. After all, the bastard had murdered his parents and destroyed his life, and then proceeded to plan his death with a chilling persistence. If that wasn't reason enough to kill a bloke, then there was something very wrong with the order of the world.

And so it was that Harry found himself wandering the corridors of Hogwarts, late one night in October, musing about his life and generally feeling quite hard-done by.

At least, he was until he bumped into Draco Malfoy.

In all his introspection, he'd forgotten that he was wearing his invisibility cloak, and therefore could not be seen. Typically, he'd not been looking where he was going, and had thus found himself in his present situation.

"Who's there?" asked Malfoy suspiciously, putting a hand out and brushing Harry's chest with his fingertips. Harry flinched, and then winced at his idiocy (having very stupidly stood stock still in surprise) and tried inconspicuously to back away…

…and promptly tripped over a suit of armour he could have _sworn_ hadn't been there five minutes ago.

"Shit," he muttered, as he lay tangled in pieces of metal.

"Potter?" returned Malfoy's voice, and Harry groaned and shut his now very visible eyes in frustration. _Of course my stupid invisibility cloak has slipped off and stupid Malfoy can see me_, he thought. _Because my life isn't already difficult enough._

"Buggar off, Malfoy," he muttered. "I'm really not in the mood."

"Yeah, well, in the mood or not, you're out late on a school night when you're not supposed to be," snapped Malfoy. "So that gets you a detention with Snape and ten points off Gryffindor." When Harry made no move to get up and leave, Malfoy growled. "Open your eyes, you prat."

"I really don't want to," said Harry. "In fact, I'm quite happy here, so if you could just toddle off back to your common room…"

"Oh, yes, because I'm really just going to leave you lying here, breaking the -"

"Meow."

"I'm sorry, did you just say breaking the meow?" asked Harry, sitting up abruptly and opening his eyes to stare at Malfoy. "Because that's just weird. Weirder, than usual, I mean -"

"Shut _up_, you berk. It wasn't _me_, it was Mrs Norris, and she's probably gone to get Filch by now," Malfoy hissed, sounding alarmed.

Harry blinked at him, trying to work that through in his mind. "Malfoy, you're _Head Boy_. You have about seventeen perfectly legitimate excuses as to why you'd be loitering in a corridor at two-thirty in the morning."

"Yeah, and about a hundred more reasons why I don't want to bump into Filch at said late hour, not least because he's a vindictive old bastard who'll probably give me a detention just for kicks. Now, are you coming, or not?"

Just as Harry was considering answering in the negative – purely to see the vein above Malfoy's eyebrow twitch – a flickering light appeared at the end of the hall and creaky old voice called, "Where are they, my love?"

"_Shit_," hissed Malfoy, darting forward and hauling Harry up with a jangle of metal limbs. "This way." He dragged Harry out of the dismembered armour and down the corridor in the opposite direction to Filch, who gave a shout at the noise and started after them. Harry mentally rolled his eyes (an action that would have been incredibly dangerous had he actually performed it, considering his incredible lack of coordination), then reached out and grabbed the back of Malfoy's robes, yanking him into a little alcove hidden by a tapestry.

They stumbled and Harry ended up smushed against the stone wall with Malfoy's entire weight leaning on him. The tapestry fell back into place just as Filch sprinted past, wheezing loudly enough to wake a heard of hippogriffs. The two boys listened as his footsteps got quieter, and when Harry was sure that the cantankerous caretaker was gone, he elbowed Malfoy hard in the stomach, sending him reeling backwards so that he was half out of the alcove (which was really only made to hold one normal sized person, not two rather tall teenaged boys).

"Damn it, Potter, what the hell was that for?" Malfoy wheezed, and Harry smirked in satisfaction.

"You were crushing me, Malfoy. You're not exactly a lightweight. Anyway, I -"

Harry broke off as he heard footsteps coming back down the corridor. He reached out and grasped Malfoy's wrist, dragging him back into the alcove.

"What the -"

Harry clapped a hand over Malfoy's mouth.

"_Filch_," he breathed.

As they stood there silently, Harry became aware of how close the two of them were. The alcove really was very small, and the boys were of a very similar height, so they were almost chest to chest. Harry's hand was still clasping Malfoy's wrist, and the other one was at an awkward angle as he held it over the Slytherin's mouth. Malfoy had reached out to steady himself on the wall when Harry had grabbed him, and his arm was caging the Gryffindor in.

Having known for a while that he preferred boys to girls, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing for Harry, and had it been a different situation (or _person_), he probably would have been quite enjoying this. However, since it was Malfoy (the chances of the two of them actually having a civil conversation, according to the student body, was up there with Voldemort rising from the dead – again), Harry felt incredibly surreal, as well as vaguely attracted.

Tension grew and crackled between them until it was too much to bear, and as soon as he was positively sure that Filch had left the building, so to speak, Harry let go of Malfoy and darted off.

* * *

Three days later, it happened again. Harry was lounging on a couch in the Head's common room (which was infinitely more comfortable than the Gryffindor couches) musing about life as he waited for Hermione to come back, when a voice rang out from the stairs.

"Potter!"

"Holy bejesus!"

There was a thump as Harry fell off the sofa with a muffled shout. He rolled over, rubbing his head.

"Ouch," he moaned.

"What the heck do you think you're doing here, Potter?" snapped Malfoy.

"Waiting for Hermione. Jesus, Malfoy, do you always enter room that way? It's a bloody health hazard."

"You're not supposed to be here," Malfoy ground out.

"Here we go again," Harry groaned. "You know, I'm getting a real sense of déjà vu. Didn't we already have this discussion?"

"Well you obviously didn't listen to me the first time, although why you'd ever deign to listen to common sense…"

"Hey, I'm the victim here," said Harry, sitting up slowly (you could never be too careful with head injuries – even the smallest bump could cause your skull to crack open and all your brain fluids to leak out through your ears…well, maybe not…). "I was just innocently lying here on this very comfy couch, minding my own business -"

"You were _moping_," said Malfoy in distaste. "You had a mopey look on your face -"

He broke off at the look Harry was giving him. "What?"

"How long were you standing there, Malfoy?"

"Long enough to see you _moping_."

"Everybody needs a good mope sometimes," said Harry, spreading his hands diplomatically. "And what do you care if I mope?"

"You do it _all the time_," snarled Malfoy, and Harry suddenly realised how irrationally angry the other boy was. He scrambled up to a standing position.

"I don't -" he started. Malfoy _glared_, and Harry took a small, instinctive step backwards.

"Yes you do. It's so _annoying_. The war's over, Voldemort's dead – get on with your life!"

"Well, if everyone would just leave me alone," said Harry, beginning to get irritated.

"They do, which you would have noticed had you actually bothered to _not mope_," Malfoy growled.

"The press haven't -"

"And can you blame them? They finally have something good to talk about that's actually true!"

"Well, it's not as if I deserve it," said Harry defensively, and Malfoy made a sound of disgust.

"Stop being so damned noble, Potter," snapped Malfoy.

"I'm _not being noble_."

The words rang out through the room, and tension crackled between the boys. Harry was angry now – at what Malfoy was saying, at Malfoy for saying it, and at himself, because Malfoy was actually right. And there was _no way_ he was ever going to know that.

"What do you care, Malfoy?" he asked, voice low and furious.

"I _don't_," the other boy said vehemently, and something like fear flashed in his eyes. He glared at Harry once more before turning and stomping back up the stairs to his room. The sound of a door slamming resounded through the room.

"Yes you do," Harry murmured to himself, remembering the fear (of Harry? Or of Harry knowing that he cared?). "But why?"

* * *

Harry stood atop the battlements of the tallest tower in the castle, breathing in the crisp, fresh air and attempting to organize his thoughts. It was calm up here (metaphorically speaking, because there was actually a raging gale and the promise of thunderstorms later), and Harry felt as though it was the first time all week that he'd been able to think without interruption.

Most of his thoughts centred on Draco Malfoy and his unsettling ability to rattle Harry (although there were a lot of thoughts about his attractiveness as well). The realisation that Malfoy had the capacity to care about others had been a surprising but not unwelcome thought, and whatever feelings Malfoy had for him, Harry could safely say he returned.

Unbeknownst to our resident Boy Wonder, a frantic group of students had formed at the base of the tower, all under the impression that the pressure was just too much for their hero and that he was going to end it (or, of course, that he really was insane and he thought he could fly without a broom).

Harry didn't hear their shouts and cries, or the footsteps clattering up the stairs and the door banging open. What he did hear was an anguished yell of, "_Don't jump!_" as someone grabbed his jumper and pulled him of the wall…

He blinked as the world came back into focus. The thunderstorm had hit and icy rain was beating down on him. Harry squinted up at the person bending over him as he reordered his mind, and then suddenly realised where he was and why.

"Malfoy," he groaned, and the boy above him, who could only be his attacker, breathed a sigh of relief.

"What in Merlin's name were you doing, you idiot?"

"Oh, my head," Harry whimpered in pain.

"_Harry_," said Malfoy sharply, and the use of his first name made Harry shiver. "Look, I know you think things are tough, but they can't be _that_ bad. I mean, not bad enough to _jump_ -"

"Wait, _what_?" asked Harry, sitting up suddenly. His head spun, but he shook it off. "You thought I was going to jump? Are you out of your bleeding mind? Actually, don't answer that."

"But – what – Merlin, Harry, what the hell were you doing up here?"

"I was trying to think," said Harry wearily, rubbing his head. "I needed some space. Anyway," he continued, seeing the sceptical look Draco was giving him, "you can't fall up here, so even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have jumped."

"What do you mean?" asked Draco, brow creased in confusion. With his blond hair plastered to his head and rainwater dripping down his face, Harry thought he'd never looked so amazing.

"Wards," he managed to croak out. "Bounce you right back up again." He picked up a loose piece of stone from the ground and slung it at the battlements. It sailed over the edge, and a golden net lit up the sky. The rock hit the net and bounced, flying back over the wall and heading straight for Draco, who gave a yelp, ducked and overbalanced, ending up sprawled over Harry.

They lay there in silence for a few moments, listening to the rain.

"I'm an idiot," said Draco after a while.

"Yup," Harry replied. "But you're my idiot."

Draco pushed himself up to see Harry's face, and Harry grinned. Draco smiled back like a burst of sunlight, and then bent his head down and touched his lips to Harry's.

And Harry found his peace.


End file.
